


Not In That Way

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: The Johnlock Christmas Collection [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Christmas fic, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Drunk confessions, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, drunk!John, fantasies, mistletoe kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: John comes home a little bit horny and a whole lot drunk. Need I say more?





	Not In That Way

**Author's Note:**

> Yay. Writing this took an age but I've finally finished it! I hope you enjoy whatever this is! Happy holidays, everyone!

_And I hate to say I love you_

_When it’s so hard for me_

_And I hate to say I want you_

_When you make it so clear_

_You don’t want me_

_I’d never ask you, cause deep down_

_I’m certain I know what you’d say_

_You’d say I’m sorry, believe me_

_I love you_

_But not in that way._

_-Sam Smith, Not In That Way_

Sherlock hadn’t been sleeping exactly, but he hadn’t been entirely awake either. That changed very quickly with the curses that were fired off like bullets by the front door.

Sherlock slowly rose from the couch and walked to the door, looking down the stairs to see John wrestling with his jacket.

“John?” Sherlock asked.

“Bugger. This fucking jacket just won’t bloody come off.”

Now John’s language was like any other mans', meaning he did swear occasionally, but never quite this much. Sherlock thought back to a couple hours earlier. John had left at around nine o’clock, but before that he’d said something about his army mates and the pub, a Christmas thing apparently. John didn’t go to the pub very often, probably something to do with his sister. Maybe he’d had one too many drinks tonight, Sherlock concluded.

The least Sherlock could do was help John, so he went down the stairs and helped tug the jacket off his shoulders.

“Thanks, Sherl’ck.” John sighed, his head lolling back onto Sherlock’s shoulder and his weight pressing against his chest. That was... new. Maybe John forgot about personal space when he was drunk. Not that Sherlock was complaining. It wasn’t likely John would remember it anyway.

“You smell good tonight, baby.” John slurred.

Sherlock froze on the spot. His brain turned into temporary glue as he tried to decipher what the hell just happened. What was John saying? Why was he saying that? Was this what normally happened when people got drunk?

John turned in his arms and gazed hazily into his eyes. “C’mon, gorgeous, at leats give me kiss ‘ello.” John slurred, leaning closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he began to panic. Was John serious? Did he really want Sherlock to kiss him? What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea, but he didn’t want to make John angry if by chance he remembered it in the morning.

Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to John’s forehead. “Hello.” He said with as much sweetness as he could muster.

“Aww, C'mon baby, you can do be’er than that.” John said, dragging his nose up the column of Sherlock’s throat. This really was a disaster. It was time to play another angle before Sherlock got too flustered and did something he would surely regret.

“John, you’re drunk. You need to go upstairs and get some rest.” Sherlock told John sternly, holding him away with hands on his shoulders.

“But, the stair’d are soooo big!” John whined.

“Uh…” Sherlock looked around for another option, sighing when he realized there wasn’t one. “I guess I’ll have to help you.

“Yay!” John exclaimed, leaning in to kiss Sherlock, but he turned his head just in time, John’s kiss landing on his cheek instead “C’mon.” John nodded to the stairs, undeterred by his failed kiss. “Lesh go.”

“O-okay.” Sherlock hesitantly put his arm around John’s waist, blushing when John leaned his weight on him but continuing with determination. He slowly helped John up the stairs, a slow progress with John continually trying to bury his nose in Sherlock’s neck. 

“Stop it, John.” Sherlock pleaded, hating his weak knees and the churning in his stomach.

“Butchoo smell soooo good, baby.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He was strong, much stronger than human emotions or impulses. He could definitely push through this.

“Here we are.” Sherlock announced as they reached the landing. He gently guided John forward, through the open door and into the lounge. He deposited John onto the couch, sighing in relief when John settled into it.

“Okay, I’m going to go get you some water. Stay here.” Sherlock instructed sternly, rolling his eyes at John’s two-fingered salute. He returned glass in hand, setting it on the coffee table before instructing John to drink.

“Yesssssir.” John winked, gulping the water down steadily. Sherlock was glad John was at least obedient, hoping a little water will help sober him up. “Did you find any sugar back there? Because I’d like some of that too. Riiiiight here.” John rubbed his finger against his lower lip, before reaching over and doing the same to Sherlock’s. “Mmmmmm, I betcha these are very sweet.” John giggled.

“Uh… Thank you, John.” Sherlock replied, not quite sure what to say.

“Sssshhhhheeeerrrrllllloooocccckkkkk!” John sang loudly.

“Yes, John?”

“Sherlock, I have a present for you.” John continued to sing. “It’s a Christmas present.”

“Well, that’s nice, but maybe it can wait until it’s _actually_ Christmas.”Sherlock suggested, Rising from his perch.

“Nooo, I wanna give it to you nooooow.” John whined.

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed. “But afterward, you have to promise to go to sleep.

“Aha.” John nodded eagerly, then frowned touching his head in confusion. He dove into his pocket, and Sherlock had enough time to wonder what John could have possibly got him that was small enough to fit in his _pocket_ , when John was pulling his hand out again. Then Sherlock suddenly knew, and his stomach dropped as he realized that this was a very big mistake.

“It’s mistletoe!” John announced gleefully, rather pointlessly as Sherlock was well aware of what was in his hand. “You have to kiss me now, Sherlock!” John instructed, waving the bundle above their heads wildly, a stray leaf falling into his hair.

“Uh, John, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Sherlock said, backing away a little.

“But Sherlock, you said I could give you my present, and the kiss is a part of my present.” John claimed. “I promise to go to bed straight after.” John batted his eyelashes innocently.

“...Fine.” Sherlock relented, because it was John. Try as hard as he might, he would always cave when it came to John Watson.

“Good.” John squealed, leaning forward and planting his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

“One kiss.” Sherlock insisted sternly.

“Yup.” John agreed. Hesitantly, Sherlock shut his eyes, hoping against hope that there was a chance John would forget this ever happened come morning.

John’s lips were impossibly soft against his own and tasted slightly of beer. Sherlock scolded himself for noticing, knowing sober John would be furious when he found out what happened.

“There.” Sherlock leaned back, hoping John would be satisfied and would finally go to bed.

“Sherlock, that’s not fair! You didn’t even use tongue!” John whined.

“O-okay.” Sherlock wasn’t exactly an expert in this area, usually only kissing people if a case required it. Even then, he kept his mouth firmly shut, possessing to desire to deal with any unwanted consequences.

“C’mere.” John cajoled, pulling Sherlock even closer. Sherlock only hesitated for a moment before he allowed John to crash their lips together once more. Sherlock’s breath stuttered through his nose, his heartbeat quickening. He felt John’s tongue brush against his lips, teasing just along the seam. Sherlock allowed them to part, letting John in. And damn, it was worth whatever the next morning would bring if now was his only chance to have _this_.

John was moving even further into his space, moving off the couch to settle atop of Sherlock’s thighs.

“John, wait.”Sherlock pleaded, breaking the kiss.

“Sherlock.” John was looking into his eyes now, and shit it was scary because for a moment John looked entirely sober, serious about where his next words would come from. “You and I both know that you want me.” John lowered the lids of his eyes, looking up at Sherlock through his eyelashes. “So, go on. Have me.”

Sherlock’s control snapped with one mighty tug, his body pulled to John’s with as much force as the gravity on Jupiter. Their bodies fitted together like pieces of a puzzle, and it was like that same moment when everything came together in Sherlock’s head, and the case was solved, and John would look at him like he’s the stars above and say “You’re extraordinary.” and Sherlock would let himself believe him.

And it only took that one moment, but it was everything and just enough to drive Sherlock wild.

John pulled back then, causing a whine to fall from Sherlock’s lips.

“Bedroom?” John chuckled.

“Bedroom.”

John stood up and led Sherlock by the hand down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom, smiling wickedly as he closed the door behind them.

“Now, Sherlock.” John growled, prowling forward. His hands settled on Sherlock’s shoulders, pushing him down onto the bed with considerable force. He kissed Sherlock sloppily, and all Sherlock could do was let him.

“Do you want me?” John asked, sliding a hand down Sherlock’s front.

“Yes.” Sherlock stuttered.

“Good.” John breathed into his ear, his body pressing into Sherlock’s. 

He rolled his hips against Sherlock’s, sending arousal rocketing down his spine in his wake. John’s hands started scrabbling for buttons, undoing Sherlock’s before moving to his own.

“C’mon, babe, lez see some skin.” John giggled. Sherlock complied, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and undoing his belt.

“Fuck, watching you do that makes me so hard.” John pressed his hand against his groin suggestively. “Wanna be all over you, _now_.” Sherlock gulped. He had no idea John would be so vocal.

Sherlock watched avidly as John lowered the zipper of his jeans, taking an agonizingly long time to do so. John kept trailing his hand up and down his thigh, brushing against the cotton as if the very touch gave him pleasure.

“Do you like to watch, Sherlock? I think you do. I see you sometimes, watching me. When I lick my lips. When I bend over. When I have jam smudged on my lip. I put it there on purpose,” John leaned towards Sherlock, whispering in his ear. “I do it on purpose. I like it when you watch me.” John trailed a hand down Sherlock’s torso, reaching below the waist of Sherlock’s trousers. “It’s what I think about when I touch myself.” John nibbled Sherlock’s ear and all the breath let him at once. He’d never been this high strung before, this ready to snap. It seemed inevitable.

“I imagine watching me,” John continued. “I imagine you listening at the door. You hear every gasp I make, every moan.” Sherlock moaned as John’s hand finally wrapped around him, his back arching as pleasure shot down his spine. “At first, listening is enough. But very quickly, it’s not.” John licked a hot stripe up Sherlock’s neck. “So you crack the door open. You tell yourself it’s just for a peek. But then you see me stroking myself.” John’s hand stroked Sherlock firmly, circling on his tip. Sherlock couldn’t help but cry out, pushing into John’s hand as he continued the story.

“You watch me as I stroke myself, and it makes you hard. So hard that it hurts.” John squeezed himself through his jeans and let out a breathy sigh. “And, fuck, then you can’t help it. So you open up your fly and touch yourself as well.” John stroked harder, causing Sherlock to let out a course of _John, John, John._

“Fuck, Sherlock. Can-Can I-”

“Yes.” Sherlock exclaimed, letting John push down his trousers and underwear, watching as John did the same. His mouth watered as John revealed his cock. Fuck, it was _big_. Sherlock wanted to catalogue every inch of it, to have it memorised and forever sealed in his mind palace. But he only had tonight. He had to make do with what he had.

“John, can I s-suck you?’ He asked. 

“Fuck, of course, you can.” John leant back on his elbows, spreading his legs. It played with Sherlock’s mind, muddling his thoughts. All he could focus on was John, the muscles of his thighs, his hooded blue eyes, his heaving chest. His brain was a chorus of _John, John, John,_ and it wasn’t about to stop.

Kneeling in front of John, Sherlock looked up at him through his eyelashes, making sure this was okay. John bit his lip and nodded. Sherlock trailed his hands up the insides of John’s thighs, eliciting a tiny shiver from John. He gently bent and brushed his lips against John’s bobbing head gently. Sherlock wasn’t experienced in any of this so all he could do was hope whatever followed was right enough for John to enjoy.

He tested the waters, lapping John’s skin lightly with his tongue. John tasted nice, clean and salty, with a hint of something else that Sherlock couldn’t place. Gaining confidence with John’s encouraging “Yeah, like that,” Sherlock began to suckle lightly, placing just the tip into his mouth.

“Ah, ah, Sherlock. Fuck, Sherlock.” John gasped, a hand creeping into Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock couldn’t believe that this was where he was, on his knees in front of a man with his erection swelling in pure bliss. Sherlock pulled John further into his mouth, hungry for him in a way he was unfamiliar with.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!” John moaned, his hand pulling harder on Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock moaned around his mouthful because, fuck, that felt good. “Sherlock, please.” Sherlock swallowed him down, holding his breath as he felt John convulse wildly down his throat.

Sherlock pulled off, at last, wiping his chin and wincing as he swallowed.

“Fuck, Sherlock. I can’t believe you just did that.” John gasped, his chest heaving. Sherlock shrugged with a smile, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “C’mere.” John pulled Sherlock up to lay beside him, kissing his lips, his chest, his throat as he worked over him with his hand.

“John.” Sherlock sigh, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to stave off the wave of pleasure crashing towards him. John grinned wickedly at him before tugging his hair again and pulling Sherlock’s nipple into his mouth. The over-stimulation left Sherlock crying out, his hips pumping into the air as he tipped over the edge and rode out his release.

John stroked his hair through it, whispering soft words and peppering him with kisses. Regaining focus, Sherlock pulled the covers over them. John stayed with him, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist when he attempted to create some distance. John still wanted him to stay, even after all that.

Sherlock hoped to God that he would still feel that way in the morning.

***

Sherlock awoke to entangled limbs and warm breath against his shoulder. He quietly extracted himself, pushing John onto his side as he sat on the edge. Sunshine filtered through the sheer blue curtains in stark contrast to the shadows lingering in the room

Sherlock put his head in his hands and sighed. How did he let it get this far? How could he even let himself have this? Now, he knew what it felt like to be with John, to feel his skin against his own, hear the sounds he could make. How could he possibly go back from that, back to long looks and utter denial? Sherlock didn’t think he had the strength to fight himself anymore. Was he to spend the rest of his time with John a pining, pathetic mess? Would John even care? 

Shit. One drunken accident, one moment of weakness, and Sherlock’s life had been completely destroyed. How could he possibly have let it get this far?

“Aaargh.” John’s loud groan called from the other side of the bed. Sherlock took that as his cue to leave, running out the door on silent feet.

Huffing to himself, Sherlock made his way to the kitchen. He pulled out a tall glass and some paracetamol from the cupboards, filling the glass with tap water before setting them aside. Filling the kettle, he set it to boil, pulling out John’s cup to ready his tea. He simultaneously tried to block out the mutterings coming from his room while also straining to hear them. I didn’t matter either, they remained a ghostly presence; unable to be truly perceived but undeniably there otherwise.

Carefully, Sherlock poured the boiling water into the mug, readying it in one hand before grabbing the glass and paracetamol in the other. Slowly, keeping his eyes on the wavering line of liquid, he made his way down the hall to his room before coming to a stop. The door was closed and his hands were full. Sighing, Sherlock looked around for a safe place to put the contents of his hand that wasn’t the ground.

But then the door opened.

“Oh. Hi?” John looked up at him with blurry eyes shielding with a hand from the low light of the hallway.

“Um,” It was John, just John, with his blond hair and blue eyes. He hadn’t changed at all. But Sherlock had been there last night, been held by him like maybe he was worth something. Yet here they were, standing across one another in cold silence. 

“I-” Sherlock coughed. “I brought you some painkillers,” Sherlock held up one hand. “-and tea.” He held up the other.

“Oh. Right, thanks.” John took the glass of water and paracetamol, downing both quickly before wiping his chin. Sherlock then swapped the glass for his tea silently, watching as John blew on it before taking quiet sips of it.

The world dissolved into silence, Sherlock unable to take his eyes from John’s face as it bent low over his cup.

But then John looked up and Sherlock felt the wind punch out of him at the sight of John's sad blue eyes, forlorn beyond comprehension.

“John,” The crack in his voice broke the silence, John's eyebrows rising as he continued. “John, I'm so sorry. I never should've let this happen! I should have just gone to bed, left you alone. I shouldn't have let it get this far, I should have-”

“Why are you apologizing?” John's sleep-heavy voice weighing the air between them. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“You were drunk,” Sherlock explained. “You didn't know what was going on.”

“I did know, thank you very much.” John huffed, taking another sip of tea.

“Yes, but I should have stopped you!” Sherlock insisted. Why the hell was John being so calm about this? Didn't he understand what last night meant? “I should have stopped you, I should have fucking known better and I shouldn't have let myself give in.”

“Uhh…”

“I'm not supposed to be like this. I am the man of mind, not heart, I should have never let it rule my head!” Sherlock spat.

“Um, Sherlock,” John was looking at him with wide eyes, not watching as he set his tea down behind him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Oh. Oops.

“Uhh, nothing.” Sherlock denied, damning the uncertainty in his voice.

“Sherlock. What. Did. You. Mean?” John's voice was stern, bordering no argument.

“Nothing.” Sherlock insisted, hating the way heat rushed to his cheeks. “This doesn't matter, why are we even still talking about-” 

“Answer me, dammit!” John yelled, his voice cutting through Sherlock without mercy.

“Fine.” Sherlock bit, crossing his arms against strain in his chest. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to lay himself bare for people to see.

“Go on.” John prompted, his eyebrow raised in a no-nonsense attitude. Sherlock sighed.

“Well it’s like what you were talking about uh,” He coughed, “Last night. I just… Sometimes when you… I guess I just wish you and I were…” Sherlock sighed, looking at his bare toes wriggling in the carpet in an attempt to ignore the shock crawling across John’s face. “It was easy to go on pretending, or just push it out of my mind, but now? Now I think I’ve ruined everything.”

This was awful, the tension hanging in the air stifling him as Sherlock glanced up to gauge John’s reaction.

John inhaled like he was about to speak, but then paused, looking far away as he seemed to work things out in his head. “Sherlock.” He started, looking at him seriously. Sherlock reluctantly met his eye, gulping at the resolve he found there. “You want us to be… Together?” Sherlock nodded. He knew what came next.

_“I’m sorry, I love you, but not in that way.”_

“Well, then,” John sighed and Sherlock felt it like an ending, the curtains drawing to a close as sad music played them off. Sherlock felt a brief escape in deciding what song they would play. Perhaps some Mendelssohn, or some Haydn? “Sherlock, if you really want us to be together, then nothing is ruined.”

Sherlock’s ears rang as he tried to process that. Did John mean..? No. That couldn’t be possible. They weren’t supposed to be happy, not truly. They were supposed to solve crimes, to revolve around each other in almost happiness. They weren’t supposed to collide, that could create a black hole.

Or maybe they could be a supernova.

“Ahh, Sherlock, you’re kinda scaring me now.” John’s voice broke through his thoughts, scattering them like pieces of paper in the wind.

“Um,” Sherlock croaked. “You mean to say t-that me a-and you are…”

“Yes.” John nodded firmly.

“Right.” Sherlock furrowed his brow.

“You okay with that?” John teased, smiling at him.

“I- Yes, I’m -I’m very okay with tha-a mph.” Sherlock’s voice was cut off when John pressed their lips together sweetly. It was kinder than before, warmer somehow when John stepped into his space.

“Good.” John grinned.

 _Yes,_ Sherlock thought, _**Supernova.**_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you like, you can find me on Tumblr under zebrashavestripes . Until next time, bye!


End file.
